VISITATION
The other night,
I visited you.
I stopped by late.
The door was open
and you were there,
as always.
Warm and echoey,
the marble interior,
incense and candle air,
the habitual, homey smell
of some place I used to live:
stone tablet tower
I used to trust
to stand up on its own.
But this was different.
It had been a long time,
You were the same,
I had changed.
So had the books
I brought in. This time
I sat in your light, basking,
adoring, blessing you,
and with a sore and softened heart,
I sat reading a lesbian poet,
devouring every pain-soaked word
as she whispered to me the truth,
proclaiming the human holy,
singing songs of sex and death,
uttering the brilliant, murky reality
that dare not speak its name.
Not from the pulpit, anyway.
This is why we disembark:
on pilgrimage, we seek prophets
who will dignify our grief.
Forsaking incense,
marble, and frame.
Daring to hope
that God could be
worthy of the Name.
--
THANK YOU NOTE
(TO A PATHOGEN)
Thank you,
virus.
You murderous,
oblivious
protein…
for this moment of human unity.
There is much to be said for shared pain.
Sudden and unwelcome – but necessary –
that we might see the pain in each other’s eyes
and remember we are the same.
If each Other is a mirror of the Divine,
you’ve pulled our gaze to it
and revealed humanity to itself
in every great and terrible way.
HOW
How am I
they ask
a loaded
question.
I barely know.
Hungover,
cotton-mouthed,
hollowed, sad.
Grief is work.
Tough, tense,
thankless
as tilling earth.
You gouge and sift.
You break
dry ground,
the loam of you,
with faith
your toil,
cuts, and blisters
will matter.
Faith, perhaps,
but hope remains
another matter.
Love, an open question.
--
WHAT IF LOVE
What if love
is smaller
than we give it credit for?
Not small in the sense
of insignificance
but subtler.
What if love,
rather than wildfire,
could be less destructive?
A low glow in the chest,
warming gently that cavity
hollowed before.
An ember,
burning silent.
Just warm enough.
One’s grasp of your hand,
coming indoors
from a gloveless winter.
A muted heat
akin to body temp:
rarely sensed but vital,
quiet inner furnace.
Emanative flame
that burns but won’t consume.
What if love
could surprise
less like the fiery crash
but rather like
the $20 you forgot
was in your coat pocket,
deposited last frost.
--
